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“Sherlock seems like a lovely lad.”
It was December 24th, and John was sitting on the couch in what was supposed to be a living room. His mum, sitting opposite him in the only armchair, a cup of tea in her hands and a fond grin on her face. She pressed the cup up to her lips and took a sip. The flat was dead quiet as John took a second too long to process what she had said.
“Yeah.” He said it as if it were an instinct, soon realising that it came out a bit quickly. “I mean, yes- uhm- Sherlock is, well, he’s- uh, lovely, yeah…”
Carol took another sip of her tea as her face seemed to grow into an ever-fonder smile.
"Well, no, actually, he-he’s not…” John grumbled as he realized what he’d just said.
John had never imagined it could be this
hard talking to his mother, but something about the combination of ‘Sherlock’ and ‘Lovely’, seemed to make his throat close up.
His mum put her cup down on the slightly acid-stained coffee table. It had been one of Sherlock’s odd experiments; quite frankly, John couldn’t stand it, but at the same time, he found it fascinating.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She stood up and flung her arms around John.
“W-what, tell you what?” He sat stunned. What was she on about? he thought.
“That you finally found someone; oh, I’m so happy for you, darling!"
John sat in silence, his mother squeezing him tighter the longer he sat. He knitted his eyebrows; maybe it was the lack of sleep or the fact that he’d just seen a dead body only a week ago, but he couldn’t for the life of him understand why she would be hugging him.
“You know you could’ve just told me, live and let live; that’s my motto.”
“No, mum, that’s from a TV show."
Carol finally let go of her son, backing away to look at his face, only to be met with utter confusion. They both stayed there for a while, Carol waiting for John to speak and John racking his brain for an explanation for all this madness.
That’s when it finally clicked in his mind.
“Wait no, m-me and Sherlock- w-were not-“ he sputters, desperately trying to explain, his heart beginning to race.
“Oh I’m not stupid, John; I can see it on your face.” She turned to face the door, as keys could be heard jingling right outside.
It was Sherlock, it must be. Just for a second, John let a small smile creep onto his face. Then, just as soon as it appeared, it was gone as his mum abruptly stood up.
“Well, I’d better be off; busy day tomorrow, Christmas and all.” She winked at him and spun around to make her way towards John's bedroom.
“No, mum, wait! W-were really not- ah, wait-“
But it was too late; she had already gone, closing the door behind her. John debated going after her but ultimately decided he could explain everything in the morning, when he’d gathered his thoughts enough to make up a coherent sentence.
“Ah, it was already unlocked." Sherlock mumbled as he stepped through the door.
John just stared, trying to calm all the mushy thoughts in his head as well as his rapidly beating heart. Why has his mum assumed John had ‘found someone’? Why was she so sure it was Sherlock? Did other people think they were together? Did Mariana think they were? What did she mean by seeing it on his face?
”What?” Sherlock looked down, checking his shirt. “Do I have something on my face?” He swiped his hand over his narrow jaw.
He had a nice face, John noted. In fact, Sherlock was quite lovely—perhaps not the definition of lovely most people knew, but in a way, Sherlock was absolutely lovely.
“Watson, are you okay?" Suddenly Sherlock was only a few inches from him, his left knee on the ground to meet John's eye.
“Ah-Uh, yes, just, uh.. just thinking.” John answered, finally snapping out of his thoughts.
Sherlock stared at him, seemingly surveying him, like he’d do with one of the many victims in his cases. He narrowed his eyes, and slowly he backed away, taking his usual seat in the armchair opposite John. Silence once again spread throughout the flat.
”You’re not gonna-“ John began, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh yes, of course!” Sherlock coughed. “What are you thinking about?” He leaned forward, placing his chin in his hands.
“Well, uhm… my mum thinks- uh… that we’re a-uh, that we’re a thing.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat; he could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks.
“Oh, no, we’re people, though both nouns, they are very separate concepts-“
“No Sherlock. Like, uh, like a couple. She thinks we’re a couple."
John sighed and wished he could just sink into the chair. Why was he even telling Sherlock this? Perhaps he thought he should know? Or perhaps, deep down, he wished it could be true.
“Oh. No matter, I got you a gift.”
“You're not even going to acknowledge what I just said—wait, you got me a gift?”
Sherlock shifted, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small package wrapped in matte blue paper.
“Yes, I know it is common tradition to exchange gifts during Christmas time.”
He placed the package in John's lap, then leaned back into his chair, gesturing for him to open it.
“I assumed you didn’t celebrate Christmas." John looked down at the gift, then back up at Sherlock.
On Sherlock's face lay a small smile, but only for a split second. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual, slightly annoyed look.
But that split second was all it took for that familiar warmth to begin to spread through John's entire body, threatening to swallow him whole.
“I don't; the practice of celebrating the birth of a child whose sole purpose was to eventually be brutally tortured and killed, according to the Bible, a fantasy book written by desperate people during desperate times, is something I choose not to partake in."
Sherlock finished, leaving John slightly stunned.
“But I thought buying you a gift may be appropriate.”
Then there was that smile again—a small smile, barely noticeable by most, but the only thing John could see.
“Well that’s- that’s really thoughtful. Thank you, mate.” John flashed a smile of his own before he began removing the paper.
Inside was a small white box. He flipped it over, and there he read the text:
‘Smartlav+ Boardcasts quality audio directly to your smartphone or tablet.’
”A microphone?” John looked up at his companion, who looked fondly down at him.
“Smartlav+, a high-quality lavalier microphone designed for recording audio in various applications, such as recording YouTube videos or podcasting," He smiled, gesturing towards the box John now held in his hands.
The warmth now began to infect John's whole being; he couldn’t help the grin on his face, and he couldn’t help the way his heart ached. Sherlock really was lovely.
”Oh, come here!”
It only took a split second for John to clear the space between them and wrap his arms around Sherlock, having abandoned the microphone on the couch. At first, Sherlock sat completely limp, making John worry that he’d been too quick. But then he felt him wrap his arms around him, burrowing his head into John's shoulder.
Now he was sure Sherlock could feel just how fast his heart was beating, but he didn’t care; he was determined to stay here, like this, for as long as Sherlock would let him.
“You’re lovely, Sherlock.” John eventually murmured.
“Thank you, John.” The detective took a breath before letting go of him.
He then stood up, giving his friend one last smile before turning around to make his way to his room.
”You just called me John.”
Sherlock stopped in his tracks, turning back to face him
"I, uh, I don’t r-recall saying that.. ?” Now it was Sherlock’s time to stutter, his usual calm and controlled speech now become more and more jumbled by the second.
“It’s fine, mate; you don’t have to call me ‘Watson’ all the time.”
“Oh, yes- I- I suppose so." He turned back to continue walking, but then seemed to consider something and opened his mouth again to speak.
“Good night, John."
Then he was gone, quickly closing the door behind him. The grin remained on John's face.
Sherlock really was absolutely lovely.